


Okay, Stranger

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Bottom Arthur Morgan, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Love Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Smut, Versatile Arthur Morgan, communication is key, idiots to lovers, male reader - Freeform, top reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: You've encountered Arthur Morgan off and on for five years. You run into him again and have something to admit.[	"How do you want it this time, partner?" he asked, his mouth next to your ear and he nibbled at your jaw."However you'll have me," you murmured, honest, open to whatever Arthur would give you. Arthur met your eyes for a moment, deciding. He nodded resolutely."Been a while, but I reckon you can take the reins. You'll have to go slow. I need to be able to ride tomorrow." Your heart skipped a beat.]
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Male!Reader, Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 148





	Okay, Stranger

The man sitting next to you at the bar looked like he had taken a bath in mud, and he _smelled_ like he had taken a bath in a horse's watering trough. Up one side of his lean face was a smear of something that looked suspiciously like shit. His hair was disheveled and his leather gambler's hat, which had its own stool at the bar, was spattered with greenish brown flecks that you were certain you didn't want to know the identity of.

All of that aside, he was absolutely your type. He knew it too, the way he side-eyed you. It made you nervous, him knowing that you wanted something so forbidden. You felt a streak of anger at the thought, knowing that coming right out with it would get you shot or hung. Decided, you turned to him.

"Jesus, mister, you sure could use a bath," you commented, wrinkling your nose. The man swiveled his head to glare at you.

"The hell did you say to me, stranger?" he demanded. You sat a little more upright in your chair.

"I said..." you paused for dramatic effect, knowing that eyes were sliding across the bar to stare at the scene with the way he had raised his voice and you had raised yours, "you need a goddamn bath, you smelly bastard."

The man's knuckles went white on his beer bottle and he clenched his jaw hard, hissing in through his teeth.

"You're gonna wanna take that back now, y'hear?"

"Why don't you make me you ugly son-of-a-bitch?" you challenged. In an instant he was on his feet, his stool skittering backwards.

"HEY!" The bartender interrupted. "You take your bullshit outside, gentlemen. I'll have no violence in here."

"There's a perfectly good alley out back for me to kick your ass in, little fella," the big man threatened, narrowing his eyes. You ignored his comment about your stature, wanting to point out that his assessment was absurd. Regardless, you nodded.

"Fine then," you snapped. You led the way, kicking the door open, much to the amusement of the patrons, but no one stood to follow. Bar fights were a dime a dozen in this sleepy town.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind you, he barred it with a scrap of timber so the door could not be thrust open. You were in real danger, trapped here in this alley with an enemy.

Or you would have been, had you not known this stranger.

In an instant his hands were tangled in your hair, his lips were smashed against yours. He snatched your bottom lip in his teeth, biting hard enough to draw a grunt from your throat.

"Shit," you hissed, tugging back from him, your hand going to your mouth, seeing a stain of blood on your fingers from the bite. "The hell was that for?"

"I missed ya," he purred and you had to smirk at that. Standing before you in all of his glory was Arthur Morgan, young outlaw and part of the van der Linde gang.

"You stayin' outta trouble, Morgan?"

"Course not," he murmured, stepping up to you again until your back was pressed against the wall of the saloon, his arms framing you in place. He kissed your jaw, biting at your neck. "You got a room in town?"

"I do," you said, keeping your tone neutral. "But I don't want them seeing us walk up together. Nearly got myself beat half to death six months ago when some folks caught me with another fella."

Arthur went stiff at that, his hand a dead weight at the back of your head where he had tangled it in your hair.

"Another fella?" he asked, tone cautious, but obviously hurt.

"Is that a problem?" you asked him, and he swallowed.

"Naw," he answered, but his too blue eyes flickered with pain. You almost felt bad, but in your nearly five year history with him, you never knew when you were going to see him. You had never asked him to be exclusive, and you didn't want to just wait around for him to appear again. "Where's your room?"

"The inn down the street. Take a bath before you come, you are filthy," you chuckled, flicking a coin to him. He caught it in midair and looked down at himself, taking in the mud and other refuse. He nodded.

"Shoar, I could use a wash."

"Alright then, I'll meet you in my room in ten minutes."

"Okay," he agreed, surveying you. "I'll come in the back, up the stairs."

"Take your spurs off. Don't want nobody hearing you." He frowned.

"You ashamed of me, boah?"

"No more than I have to be," you admitted honestly. He faltered a bit, his face falling, but he nodded.

"Ten minutes, then."

You hurried toward your hotel, eager for the encounter, but worried about someone noticing two men entering the same room. You made a show of coming in the hotel's front door and greeted the innkeeper a little too enthusiastically, given the confused look on his face. It wouldn't do for anyone to be making assumptions about you and what you were about to get up to. You were grateful that there weren't many people staying in this small, sleepy town, and you knew that the rooms were fairly soundproof, covered as they were with quilts and pelts.

You cleared off the bedside table, quickly shoving your belongings into the top drawer to neaten the appearance. You slicked your hair back, brushing pomade through it and checked your teeth in the mirror.

"Not all bad, I guess," you commented to the mirror, assessing your appearance. "But don't you dare let that asshole make you weak. He ain't ever gonna stay with you, you know that," you told your reflection, a stubborn set to your jaw. "Hmm. Need a trim," you commented, running a finger across your chin and jawline. Too late. There came a soft knock at the window and there stood Arthur, one hand flat against the outer wall of the hotel, the other on his hip which was cocked in a way that made his entire stance one of quiet confidence. Surprised to find him at the window instead of coming in through the hotel's upstairs side door, you opened it quickly, cursing at the squeal of the hinges. "The hell, Morgan?"

"Well, you told me you didn't want nobody hearin' me," he teased, stepping into the room, his boot nearly catching on the window frame. "Now," he purred, "where were we?"

You looked him over, pleased that he had bathed and changed his clothes. You ran a thumb lightly over a healing gash, two deep cuts running parallel along the hard jut of his chin. He winced as you touched them, your thumb rubbing against a couple of crude stitches that had been thrown in place. Must have been a bad injury, you thought, concerned.

"What's that about?" you asked him and he rolled his eyes, tugging away.

"Nothin'. Nothin' you'd want to hear about anyway."

"Well, then," you agreed, sliding your suspender strap off one of your shoulders.

"Let me," he implored, running his fingers under the cotton strap and drawing it across your shoulder and then down over your arm to your waist where he released it, meeting your eyes, his gaze begging permission. You gave it gladly. His fingers undid the buttons of your soft cotton shirt hastily, brushing over your chest and down your belly. Unable to resist a small sigh, you closed your eyes, letting his fingers caress you as he took off your clothes. He unbuckled your gunbelt and tossed it to the side with a loud clunk, and then he bent down to shove your thick jeans down your legs, letting you step out of your boots and wool socks, though he seemed impatient, ready for you to be naked before him. Next, Arthur began to unbutton your union suit, his hand grazing tauntingly over your groin, eliciting a soft moan from you.

"Arthur..."

"How do you want it this time, partner?" he asked, his mouth next to your ear and he nibbled at your jaw.

"However you'll have me," you murmured, honest, open to whatever Arthur would give you. Arthur met your eyes for a moment, deciding. He nodded resolutely.

"Been a while, but I reckon you can take the reins. You'll have to go slow. I need to be able to ride tomorrow." Your heart skipped a beat. It had been a while since the big outlaw had allowed you to top him. Your cock twitched at that, beginning to grow stiff in your union suit, which was only half unbuttoned. Ignoring this, you reached for his clothing, repeating his actions, though you were a bit more tender with him than he had been with you, pressing light kisses over his flesh as the opening of buttons revealed more of his body to you, his arm hair raising where your fingers grazed it. You slid his union suit from his shoulders and shoved your own down and you stood facing one another, the only thing holding your union suits to your bodies the urgent jut of your cocks. You stepped forward and grasped both of your cocks in a hand, sliding the material of your respective underwear gently upwards, but Arthur hissed at the rough sensation of cotton against aroused flesh.

"It's too much, I can't," he murmured, and you pushed the material down off his erection and over his hips so that his underwear dropped to the floor and he stood naked as the day he was born before you. Dropping to your knees, you took his cock into your warm mouth, salivating at the sight of him, jutting proudly between his legs, his balls hanging heavy beneath his hardness. Arthur hissed and sank his fingers into your shoulder so hard it almost hurt. "Oh Christ," he muttered under his breath, and his hips stuttered forward, shoving his cock more deeply into your mouth. You weren't prepared for it and you gagged a bit, forcing yourself to swallow as salty precum oozed over your tongue. You sucked, sliding your talented mouth over him, your own cock throbbing at the whimpers your actions were driving from Arthur's mouth. His head was thrown back in ecstasy, so you shoved him back hard after sliding your mouth off him with an obscene pop, saliva and precum still connecting the head of his cock to your lips.

Arthur stumbled, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the bed behind him, so he half-collapsed, half-sat and you settled between his knees, taking him back into your mouth with a little hum of pleasure, reaching your hand down and stroking yourself with slow, lazy strokes, dipping your fingers down to caress your balls as you lapped at Arthur's.

"Shhhhiiiiit," he moaned and his hand tipped your chin up, pulling you off him. "C'mere." He didn't accept resistance, forcefully pulling you up to kiss him, so you lethim get a taste of his essence from your tongue. You darted your tongue between his lips, lapping inside his mouth, your teeth clicking against his in your urgency to remind him that he had said _you_ were in charge. Pushing him back onto the bed, you took his wrists into your hand, pinning them above his head to the bed. Arthur looked up at you, his cheeks red, his nipples hard and his cock weeping precum onto his belly and you smiled.

"Now ain't that a pretty sight?" you asked him. "Big ole tough fella all stretched out underneath me, whinin' for me to fill him."

"I ain't whinin'," he growled and you chuckled.

"You will be in a minute, Morgan." He huffed a soft gasp at that, biting the side of his lower lip.

"I got some gun oil in my satchel," he offered, breathless. You scowled.

"I ain't fuckin' you with gun oil, you fool. I've got somethin' better." You opened the bedside drawer and withdrew a small glass vial you'd picked up from an herbalist. It was made of beeswax and walnut oil, slick and scented lightly with lavender. You poured some over your finger and lightly pressed it to the tight pink pucker between Arthur's cheeks, making him gasp. "Easy, big fella. You're alright," you assured him as you sank your finger within him. He squirmed and let loose a beautiful sound from his throat, all aching desire and whimpering desperation. He sank himself down on you, wiggling on the bed.

"I need you inside me, Y/N," he growled, bright blue eyes flashing as he lost control of his usual resolute calm.

"See, told ya you'd be whinin' for me."

"You...oof...Christ...you _shut up_ ," he managed, huffing out a grunt when you added a second finger, stroking the small, hard knot inside him that made his toes curl and his eyes roll back with pleasure.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Morgan," you demanded, pressing your fingers deeper within him and curling them in a "come hither" motion that drug the tips across his prostate, making him give a soft whine, his legs flexing and his cock throbbing. His balls drew up tight against the base of his cock and his mouth stayed open as he panted for breath. You added yet another finger and poured more lube over his hole, careful not to hurt him, but he was so aroused that the preparation was easy, so long as you stretched him slowly. "Morgan," you purred as he fisted his hands into the quilt in response to your ministrations, "I asked you what you want me to do."

"I want you..." his voice was rough and throaty, "I want you to ride me."

"You gonna be good?" you asked him, smirking.

"You're gonna hafta tame me, boah," he responded, his pride not letting him give over fully.

"Alright then," you responded, reaching for your lasso, the thought of tying him up piquing an interest in you that made your cock bob with excitement. Arthur stiffened.

"Uh uh. Not that." He, a wanted outlaw, didn't trust anyone to tie him up, you realized. Disappointed, you set the rope down and returned to him, kissing him lightly and brushing hair back from his face to distract from the moment.

"Alright, but I'm gonna hafta break this bronco one way or another," you smiled, running your hand over the spot at his waist that you knew from your previous encounters was ticklish. He smiled, showing all his big white teeth and he cupped your jaw in a big hand. He made a fair rendition of a horse's whinny and you laughed, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder.

 _You big goofy fool,_ you thought, the warm feeling in your chest rising unbidden. With an abrupt motion, you flipped Arthur so that he was lying on his belly, and then you canted his hips up, pouring more lube over your cock. Arthur struggled with you as you forced him into place, looking back over his shoulder with a mischievous glare.

 _Don't you_ dare _fall in love with him,_ you reminded yourself, but it was far too late for that. You made yourself swallow the hard lump that had formed in your throat. Might as well have your fun with him while he would let you.

You pressed the head of your cock to Arthur's entrance and grasped his shoulder with a hand, bending over him and whispering in his ear:

"Easy, boy."

"Christ," he muttered back, his pupils blown wide with lust, "just mount me already," he sassed. You obeyed, sliding home balls-deep with a hard grunt, feeling him clench around you. You put your hands on either side of his hips, taking a shuddering breath. Damn. It had been too long. Arthur struggled beneath you. "You gotta, oof, oh shit, you gotta move," he begged.

"Who's runnin' this rodeo?" you demanded, but you obliged him, pulling out partly and then sliding back home again, Arthur letting out something that approached a squeak as the head of your cock rammed into his prostate, a better sensation even than what your fingers had been doing within him before. You slid in and out, finding a slow rhythm, drawing air in through your nostrils and forcing yourself to stay calm. Already the little noises Arthur was mewling beneath you had your balls tightening, and you felt that tell-tale sensation of electricity running up from your toes to your core. "Not yet," you hissed under your breath, "Jesus Christ, not yet." You stopped, took a huge breath and made yourself think of things that would distract you.

Arthur, devil that he was, knew you were struggling. He looked over his shoulder at you and slid his hips back, engulfing you with the movement before leaning forward and then repeating the motion, making your cock sink in and out of him.

"S-stop, hang on," you begged, and you reached a hand around and grabbed his cock, stilling his movements beneath you by finding a lazy rhythm of your hand over his flesh. Your thumb slid over the head of his silky steel erection, grazing precum over it, your finger dipping lightly into his slit to draw yet more from him and then using it as lubrication to pump him as you once again began to move, clenching your jaw and making yourself calm. "You feel so good, Arthur," you murmured, continuing your slow strokes of his cock with one hand while the other gripped his hip, pumping in and out of him with hard slaps of your hips against his ass, him breathing hard, soft grunts and moans pouring out of him as you rode him.

"I...I'm gonna...Christ...oh God," he managed and you felt warmth spill over your hand on your next stroke as he climaxed. A moment later you had to clench your jaw for all you were worth as you felt his warm flesh pulsing around your cock as you worked him through his orgasm.

"Oh, oh shit," you hissed, and all control was lost. "Aw fuck, Morgan, I'm gonna, I've gotta," and that was all you managed before you released your hold on his cock and grabbed his hips with both hands, slamming into him hard from behind, pressing loud grunts of pleasure out of him. Suddenly terrified that you'd be heard, you clamped a hand over his mouth and were shocked when he drew your fingers into his mouth, suckling the flesh. You simply couldn't take anymore, and at the breakneck speed you were fucking him, combined with the slap of your balls against his ass and his tongue between your fingers, your orgasm came fast and powerfully over you, the sensation beginning in your toes and shuddering up your legs as your balls tightened and you emptied yourself inside of him with a last, aching cry of pleasure.

Sliding out of him, you rolled onto your back to catch your breath, letting Arthur lie with his side against yours after you handed him a rag. Arthur wiped away his release from the bedspread and dabbed away excess lube from his skin, sighing with pleasure before cuddling more closely against you.

"Thanks, Y/N. Don't get to let loose like that very often," he purred, voice soft. Evening had fallen, you noticed as you looked out the window through the thin curtains, glad of a new moon, which shed no light into your room. The only illumination was from the light of the small lantern hanging near the bed.

Arthur reached over to his satchel and dug out a beaten-up pack of cigarettes, lighting one with a match struck on the bedpost. He offered you a drag and you took a moment to decide if you were going to or not.

"So, what are you up to now?" he asked casually, taking another long draw of smoke after he had asked this, his tone sounding almost disinterested.

"Oh, this and that," you said evasively. Arthur turned to you, an amused expression spilling across his handsome features.

"Let's see," he declared, counting out your résumé on his fingers, "you been a gambler, a snake oil salesman, a barkeep, a fur trader. Hell, the last time I run into you, you was prospectin' gold over in Utah." You chuckled.

"Damn waste of time," came the admitted statement from your lips, and your smile faded. You'd been trying to find Arthur when you went to Utah. Arthur had found you instead, and he had only stayed for a night, fucked you hard and desperately, not even bothering to pull your clothes off, just tugging your jeans down and shoving your union suit open before slamming himself home with nothing but spit for lubrication. You and he were like gunpowder and flame, all quick passion with nothing lasting between you. Besides, he had that girl he talked about every once in a while, you reminded yourself.

"Really, whatchu been up to, Y/N? It's been nearly, what? Seven months since I last seen you?"

"Eight," you corrected.

 _Eight months, a week and two days, to be exact,_ you thought, hating the fact that you found yourself counting the days between your encounters.

"Hmm," was Arthur's only response and he used calloused fingers to douse the cherry of his cigarette before tucking it back into the cigarette pack to be re-lit later.

"Short on cash?" you guessed.

"Oh, Dutch is cookin' up some plan. I'll be alright," he assured you dismissively.

"You know you could always range with me instead," you reminded him, heart in your throat. He glanced over at you, blue eyes pensive.

"Can't leave the gang like that. And you got that beef with Davey, whatever the hell that's all about, so I guess you still won't join us." You hummed a small noise in response. It was a bit more complicated than that. You didn't want to be an outlaw, constantly on the run. You were fine being a vagabond, but not a pariah. Blaming your refusal to join the gang on your dislike of Davey was just an easy excuse. The other part of it was that you couldn't bear to watch Arthur with someone else, anyone else, working girl or otherwise. You couldn't stand to be near him if you couldn't have him, it was as simple as that and you knew that you weren't what he was looking for. You remembered your first encounter with him, remembered what he had told you, remembered what he had lost. Arthur Morgan wanted a family. A child. A wife. You swallowed hard.

"You stayin' the night?" you asked, trying to sound disinterested and failing. Arthur frowned.

"You want me to clear out, huh?" You blinked.

"I...no, I just wanted to know what to expect...this time." Arthur stared at you for a moment before reaching a hand out, stroking the side of your leg.

"Seems like more and more ever'time I come to ya, you're more of a stranger," he commented softly.

 _You have no idea,_ you thought sadly, remembering what was sitting in your bedside drawer.

"You ever gonna answer me?" came Arthur's rough voice, breaking you from your reverie.

"You don't want to know," you told him in a miserable tone, knowing he was again asking how you were making money now. He sat up a bit, his gaze going hard.

"Firstly, I don't ask questions of you lightly, boah. And second, I ain't accustomed to bein' treated like a ten-cent whore. You owe me a bed, and you owe me an explanation of where you been and what in the hell you've been up to." You wanted to be angry, but the flare of temper faded after only a moment.

"You ain't gonna like it."

"We done established that already," he snapped, standing and reaching for his gunbelt defensively. Well. Now was as good a time as any to get shot, you figured. You reached for the bedside drawer and pulled it open. It gave a shrill screech of protest, but it opened, revealing the junk you'd shoved in, including a shiny new silver star - a badge. You picked up the object, running your thumb over the top of it, and then you tossed it to Arthur, who caught it effortlessly.

Staring at it for a moment where it sat on his palm, Arthur reached for his pistol and, watching this motion, you accepted that you were probably about to die. He pulled his gun with his free hand, cocked it and glared at you, the weapon half-raised, prepared, no doubt, to blow a hole in your chest.

"The hell is all this?" he demanded, gesturing with the badge in his other hand.

"It's a living," you answered dryly.

 _"Federal marshal?"_ he hissed. "You've gotta be goddamn kidding me, Y/N. Is that why you wanted to tie me up? Huh? You gonna turn me in, let 'em hang me?" You were expecting anger from his tone, but what you heard instead was agony. Pain. Arthur's face broke, his brows drawing up in the middle, his mouth going slack with dismay. "We can't...I can't... _why?"_

"Because I'm good at it," you snapped. "Because I can track, and shoot, and I ain't squeamish about turning a man into the law. Because I ain't got nothin' else better goin' on in my life." That was a mistake, and you regretted it immediately. Arthur's face faltered and his arm relaxed, the gun sitting at his naked hip now, all but forgotten. He tossed the badge back to you and you caught it, feeling sick, the cold metal like a death knell in your hand.

"Okay, stranger," Arthur murmured. With that, he grabbed his things, tugged his pants on, and was gone without another word, stepping into the hallway and disappearing.

\---------------

A letter reached you a few weeks later, written in Arthur's smooth cursive:

 _"Dear 'Federal Marshal' Y/N,"_ it began, and you could taste the sarcasm oozing from the page.

_"I admit I am not quite certain why I am bothering with this letter. After all, you ain't got nothing better going on in your life, as you say. I thought **I** was the better thing. Turns out I was wrong. I come looking for you more times than I can count, always a step behind, always in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I guess that's just my luck. I reckon now that I ain't gonna see you again excepting at the end of a gun barrel, I can tell you that I had quite the liking for you. _

_"It weren't just the relations, though I cherish the memory of your prick in my mouth and my own buried inside you. I yearn for the feeling of you within me, but it weren't nothing but a fantasy as it turns out. You was there for me, during that hard time...found me blubbering over my son and my girl. You was kind, and loving, but I still never expected it to be anything more than carnal relations, seeking comfort in the flesh. But I adored you, Y/N. Now you done it, though. I can't be with a man who's paid to murder men like me. I don't want to lose you, but it appears I must. Anyway. So long, stranger. The knowing of you was a sweet pleasure the likes of which I shall never forget._

_With,"_ and here you could see he had furiously scribbled through the word "love" and replaced it instead with _"regards,_

_Arthur Morgan."_

\---------------

You hunted him for the better part of three years. In and out of various western states and territories, you followed the van der Linde gang the way a tick follows a hound.

Determined, you refused to let him...to let _them,_ you corrected yourself, slide through your fingers. Over mountains and through forests, fording rivers and wearing out at least four horses, you pursued Arthur doggedly.

At last, you found the van der Linde gang, holed up in an old abandoned mining town. You approached, your spurs jingling, the bright badge on your breast reflecting the light of a full moon.

"That'll be about far enough, stranger," came a nasty voice from the darkness. You huffed a relieved breath. It was Arthur. This would have been far worse if anyone else had greeted you.

"I got a warrant here for a Dutch van der Linde," you said, holding up the paper. Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"Was wonderin' when you'd come barkin' up this particular tree," he commented, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a casual motion, as though he didn't care that you were here, though he held his rifle at his side, the butt of it resting on his thigh, the barrel on his shoulder. "Heard you was followin' us."

"For a while now," you admitted.

"Hmm. Where's your posse?" he demanded.

"Ain't got one," you told him. You had to do what you had come here for. You ripped the warrant in half in a swift motion and set the papers rustling to the ground, fluttering at your feet like an injured bird. You unpinned the marshal's badge from your breast pocket and chucked it to the ground. "I didn't come here for him," you said in a soft voice. "I came here for you." Arthur stared, sniffing and sucking in a puff of smoke before grinding the half-smoked cigarette beneath the heel of his boot.

"And why should I believe you?" he asked.

"Because 'the knowing of you was a pleasure the likes of which I shall never forget,'" you quoted, your voice thick. "Because I _adore_ you, Arthur Morgan. And because I have 'quite the liking for you,'" you finished with a small, genuine smile, knowing that either death or disappointment were the likely outcomes to this fool's errand. Arthur gave a bitter, humorless laugh and looked to the heavens for a moment before adjusting his rifle butt on his leg and snapping his intense gaze back to you.

"What makes you think I still feel that way about you?" he prompted. You shrugged.

"It was worth the risk. _You_ are worth the risk. I didn't know; I didn't know you felt that way. I didn't know you'd be willing to be with another man, permanent-like. I saved up some money. Got enough for a bit of land. Come with me. You don't have to abandon Dutch and the others, your gang is welcome to come get supplies and rest anytime they need to. No one will come lookin' for wanted men at a former Federal marshal's homestead, Arthur."

There was a moment that stretched on to eternity as Arthur considered your offer. At last, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and stepped forward timidly, almost as though he was afraid you weren't real. He reached out a hand and cupped your jaw. Leaning into the touch, you closed your eyes and kissed his palm. When you opened your eyes, his startlingly blue ones met yours.

"Okay, stranger."


End file.
